


No Going Back

by alanna_the_lionheart



Series: I Keep My Promises [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Missing Scene, One Shot, Romance, olicity - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 10:20:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4560903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alanna_the_lionheart/pseuds/alanna_the_lionheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slade Wilson has always been good at finding ways to rattle Oliver Queen. Even now, despite the fact that he’s been tied and beaten, Slade manages to worm his way into Oliver’s head. Even now, with Slade bound for Purgatory, the decision Oliver made to involve Felicity in his ruse weighs heavily on his mind. As Oliver drives Felicity home, he finds himself having to face the risk he took…and the thought of what could have happened if his plan had failed. A missing scene from 2x23 "Unthinkable."</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Going Back

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to the Tumblr Arrow Summer Rewatch specific challenge for week 12: “write a missing moment from 2x23.”

**No Going Back**

 

“So what now, kid?”

 

Oliver stares at Slade Wilson, tied tightly to the column in front of him.

 

He’s done it; he’s defeated him. And what’s more, he’s done it without killing. He’s done it without sacrificing another piece of his soul. He didn’t think it was possible. Less than two hours ago, killing Slade was the only solution he could see. But then he’d found another way. And it was all thanks to-

 

“Oliver?”

 

He’s pulled from his thoughts by the sound of her voice coming through his comm link. He presses his hand to the button so he can speak to her.

 

“I’m here, Felicity,” he answers quietly.

 

“Thank god,” she responds, and he hears her sigh with relief. “Are you hurt?”

 

Oliver smiles; he can’t help himself. After everything she’s been through tonight, _he_ should be the one asking that question.

 

“I’m fine,” he assures her. “What about you?”

 

“We’re okay. Laurel, Sara, and I, we’re all okay,” she answers, and it’s then that Oliver realizes he never asked about the others. Right now, all he cares about is _her_.

 

“I should have slit her throat.”

 

The sound of Slade’s growling voice makes Oliver’s blood run cold in his veins.

 

“Oliver?” Felicity says his name hesitantly, but Oliver can only stare at the man bound in front of him.

 

“I should have killed her when I had the chance,” Slade continues. “I should have torn her to pieces, ripped her throat out and left her body for you to find.”

 

There’s no Mirakuru left in Slade. He’s helpless, tied up tightly. But there’s a malice in his voice unlike any Oliver’s heard, and he finds, somehow, that he’s more terrified of Slade than he’s ever been in his life.

 

“Oliver?” Felicity says his name again, and this time he can hear her voice shaking. “Oliver, what’s-”

 

Oliver removes his hand from the communicator, cutting her off mid sentence.

 

“But I wanted to see you _suffer_ ,” Slade growls. “I wanted to see your face when I spilled her blood.”

 

Oliver’s left hand tightens on his bow, while the fingers of his right hand begin to twitch.

 

“I wanted to hear you _scream_. I wanted to watch you _break_ when the light left her eyes. I wanted-”

 

Oliver never hears the rest of what Slade wanted. He reaches into the pouch on his left arm, pulls out a tranquilizer dart, and throws it straight at Slade’s neck.

 

Slade doesn’t even flinch as the dart sinks into his skin. As the sedative begins to take hold, Slade’s eyes never leave his.

 

“I keep my promises, kid,” he whispers just before his head slumps against his chest.

 

Oliver lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and as his hands go limp at his sides his bow clatters to the rooftop. He takes a deep breath, and then another. In. Out. In. Out.

 

Even in defeat, Slade’s still found a way to get inside his head.

 

Against his will, dozens of scenarios play out in his mind in rapid succession. He sees Felicity dead on the ground, her throat slit open. He sees her broken and bleeding, a sword protruding from her chest. He sees her neck broken, eyes staring blankly up at the sky.

 

Oliver closes his eyes and tries to will the images away, but he can’t. He needs to hear her voice, needs to hold her, needs to know that she’s okay.

 

He presses his hand to his chest.

 

“Felicity?” he asks shakily into his communicator. He waits a few seconds, and when she doesn’t answer, he calls for her again.

 

“Felicity?”

 

He knows he must sound desperate now.

 

“Felici-”

 

“Oliver!”

 

She finally answers him, and her voice comes not from the comm link but from right behind him. He turns to find her striding toward him across the roof, Sara and Laurel close behind.

 

“Oliver, what-”

 

He doesn’t give her a chance to finish. He closes the distance between them in two long strides, throws his arms around her, and pulls her into a tight hug.

 

She gasps in surprise, and he just holds her closer. He knows he’s shaking, but he can’t help it. She must notice it, too, because when she finally wraps her arms around him in return she rubs her hands soothingly along his back.

 

“It’s all right,” she assures him. “It’s over.”

 

Oliver shakes his head and he pulls back, but his hands never leave her. Instead he trails them up her arms, over her shoulders, and finally grabs her face between his hands.

 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks her. He rubs his fingers over her cheeks, eyes roaming her body, looking her up and down for the tiniest scratch. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

 

“Oliver, I’m _okay_ ,” she whispers soothingly, and she grips his hands in hers and pulls them gently away from her face. “I’m _fine_. I promise.”

 

Oliver stares down at their hands, and the sight of their intertwined fingers is enough to finally calm him. He nods, not trusting himself to speak.

 

“He’s not…he’s not _dead,_ is he?”

 

Laurel’s question brings him back to his senses, and he pulls his hands away from Felicity’s, slightly embarrassed by his overreaction. But when he finds the courage to meet her eyes, he finds no judgment there. Instead he finds his strength again.

 

“No,” Oliver answers, turning back to Slade, who’s slumped unconscious in his bonds. “He’s just knocked out. He was….”

 

Talking too much? Freaking him out? Forcing him to face the reality of what would have happened if his plan had gone wrong? He’d put Felicity in harm’s way to trick Slade. He’d told her he loved her to fool him. But what would he have done if the plan hadn’t worked? What would he have done if Slade had killed her? What would he have done if-

 

“He loved to hear himself talk,” Felicity says, breaking the silence. “After he told you where to meet him he couldn’t stop talking. And I thought _I_ had a problem keeping my mouth shut.”

 

Oliver laughs softly. She’s trying to make light of the situation, trying to make him feel better…and it’s actually working.

 

He smiles at her gratefully, and when she looks up at him and smiles back he feels his heart skip a beat.

 

And for the first time since he told her that he loved her, Oliver begins to entertain the idea that maybe, just maybe…he meant what he said.

 

* * *

 

Oliver tells Sara to take Laurel and Felicity back to the car; that he’ll meet them as soon as A.R.G.U.S takes Slade away. Even though he’s unconscious and tied to a post, Oliver knows better than to let the man out of his sight.

 

Ten minutes later, an A.R.G.U.S. jet lands in the lot of the abandoned power plant. No less than ten agents storm the rooftop to take Slade away. As they chain him up and shove needles into his arm – presumably to make sure he stays unconscious – one of them hands him a phone.

 

“Waller on the line for you, sir.”

 

Oliver takes the phone from him, shaking his head slightly at the man’s use of “sir.”

 

“Amanda?”

 

“My men will take it from here, Mr. Queen. We have a cell waiting for Slade Wilson on Lian Yu.”

 

“On…on _Lian Yu_?” Oliver asks in confusion.

 

“We’ve had a facility set up for weeks now, ever since we found out who we were dealing with. I’ll contact you once he’s safely behind bars.”

 

She hangs up without saying goodbye. Amanda Waller’s always been a woman of few words.

 

Oliver hands the phone back to the agent and follows the men down toward the jet. He watches from the edge of the lot as they shove Slade inside. Watches them chain him into his seat as they slam the door.

 

Then he watches the jet take off. He watches it until he can’t see it anymore.

 

And then, only then, does Oliver finally turn his back to Slade Wilson.

 

He finds Sara, Laurel, and Felicity standing around the car that he and Sara hotwired and borrowed for their trip to the power plant. They turn to him as one, and he lets out a deep breath.

 

“Let’s go home.”

 

* * *

 

While Oliver drives, Felicity calls Diggle to fill him in on the situation.  Diggle briefly tells them what happened to him and Lyla, and he agrees that they can all talk more tomorrow, after they’ve gotten a good night’s sleep.

 

Oliver stops at the precinct first to drop Laurel and Sara off with their father.

 

Then he drives Felicity home.

 

They sit in silence for the entire ride, which ends up being longer than anticipated, as Oliver has to make numerous detours around stalled and toppled cars.

 

Finally, he pulls up outside her apartment.

 

“Well…here we are,” he says lamely, as though she needs telling.

 

“Yup,” Felicity agrees, gazing down at her hands in her lap.

 

The silence sits heavy between them.

 

There’s so much that Oliver wants to say; so much he doesn’t know _how_ to say. That he’s sorry he sprung the plan on her the way he did, without warning. That he’s sorry he never really gave her a chance to object. That he’s sorry he put her in harm’s way. That he doesn’t know what he would have done if the plan had failed.

 

In the end, he opens his mouth to apologize, and all that comes out is her name.

 

“Felicity.”

 

And somehow, some way, she gets it. Everything he wants to say, everything he can’t put into words, she hears in those four little syllables.

 

He knows that she understands when she leans over and kisses him gently on the cheek.

 

His breath hitches in his throat, and he fights back the tears that rise without warning in his eyes.

 

When she smiles at him, Oliver feels a tiny bit of weight fall off his shoulders.

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Oliver.”

 

Oliver merely nods, once again not trusting himself to speak.

 

He watches quietly as she climbs from the car. He watches her walk up the pathway to her house, watches her let herself inside.

 

He watches the lights in her house turn on. He watches as one by one they turn off. He waits until her bedroom lights are the last to darken.

 

Only then does he realize how tightly he’s gripping the steering wheel. Only then does he realize that he has no idea where he’s going to go. Only then does he realize that it doesn’t matter.

 

He watched them tie up Slade. Watched them shoot him up with so many sedatives he’ll be lucky if he wakes up in a week. He watched them shove Slade onto the jet and fly off into the night.

 

But none of that matters…because despite everything, Oliver knows that he won't be able to leave Felicity alone tonight.

 

* * *

 

He's not sure how long he sits in the car watching her bedroom window, making sure that nothing happens to her; making sure that she’s safe.

 

He's finally torn from his quiet vigilance by the sound of her front door opening.

 

Suddenly she’s padding softly down her walkway, dressed in a bathrobe, pajama pants, and panda slippers. He watches and waits. He notices his hands are still wrapped around the steering wheel in a death grip.

 

Finally, she taps lightly on his window, and Oliver rolls it down.

 

She crosses her arms over her chest and looks at him imploringly.

 

“Oliver…are you going to spend all night out here?”

 

He wants to lie to her, and he’s ready to do it, but before he’s even opened his mouth, she tilts her head to the side and looks at him in disbelief. It’s a familiar look; he recognizes it as one of the first looks she gave him, the day he met her.

 

“Think twice about lying to me, Oliver, because you’re really bad at it.”

 

“What…I….” Oliver stammers, at a loss.

 

And then, finally, he looks down at his lap and sighs.

 

“Yes,” he whispers.

 

“Well then, you might as well come inside. You’re still in your Arrow suit, remember?”

 

Oliver looks down, and he realizes that she’s right. He’s in his suit, but he’s pulled his hood off, and he’s parked out in the open. Anyone with half a brain could recognize him easily if they looked hard enough.

 

“You’re right,” he answers as he flips his hood up. She smiles at him, and as she heads back to her apartment, he follows.

 

Once she’s locked the door behind them, she offers to make up the couch for him while he cleans himself up in the bathroom. He’s too tired to shower, and he has nothing to change into, but he takes the towel she hands him and uses it (and the first aid kit he finds under the sink) to clean his cuts and bruises as best as he can. He doesn’t need any stitches, which is good, considering that he’s too drained to stitch himself back together right now.

 

Once he’s done he comes back out – wearing his leather pants and carrying his jacket in his hand – and finds her sitting quietly on the arm of the couch, waiting for him. She stands and takes a few steps toward him, and as her eyes roam over his chest she winces sympathetically. Oliver knows the bruise on his chest looks bad, but even though it hurts, he knows he’ll be fine in a few days.

 

“Can I get you an ice pack for…everything?” she asks him quietly, and she reaches out and brushes her hand lightly over his chest. He hisses, and Felicity pulls away, mumbling an apology as she heads to the kitchen. When she finally returns, ice pack in hand, Oliver doesn’t tell her that he wasn’t hissing because of the pain.

 

She hands him the ice pack, and he takes it gratefully as he sits down on the couch. He leans back gently, placing the pack against his sore chest, and he sighs in relief. Felicity smiles at him, then pats the blanket she’s left for him on the couch.

 

“If you need anything, help yourself. My home is your home. I mean, not _your_ home, obviously. Just…well you’re a guest in my home, so…what’s mine is yours. I mean, what I’m trying to say-”

 

“Felicity.” Oliver cuts her off gently, and he smiles warmly at her. He doesn’t need to say anything more, and eventually, she lets out a long sigh.

 

“Well…good night, Oliver,” she says, and she turns to head toward her bedroom.

 

“Felicity?”

 

She turns back to him, standing in her bedroom doorway.

 

“Yeah?” she asks.

 

Once again, there’s so much he wants to tell her; so much he needs to say. But now…now isn’t the right time. He needs time to think about everything that’s happened tonight; time to work through his feelings. He’s not sure if there’ll _ever_ be a right time, but there is _one thing_ he needs to say to her now.

 

He shakes his head just the slightest as he smiles at her and says, “Thank you.”

 

He’s not thanking her for the ice pack, or the blanket, or the couch. He’s thanking her for letting him into her home, for humoring him and his irrational fears, and for doing so tactfully. He’s not sure if she understands that, but his sincerity must shine through anyway, because she smiles warmly at him before replying, “You’re welcome.”

 

She turns away and enters her bedroom, leaving the door partway open.

 

Oliver puts the ice pack on the floor next to him, covers himself in the blanket, and lies back on the couch.

 

* * *

 

It only takes Oliver a few minutes to realize something:

 

…he’s never going to fall asleep.

 

Not tonight.

 

He’ll never fall asleep because every time he closes his eyes…he watches Slade kill her.

 

Every time he closes his eyes…he watches her die.

 

Every time he closes his eyes…he holds her close and cries.

 

He tosses and turns all night.

 

It’s only when the sun finally starts to rise that he can’t take it anymore.

 

Oliver crosses to her bedroom door and peeks inside. She’s fast asleep, and part of him feels like a creep for watching her, but he just needs to know that she's okay. Her chest rises and falls with deep, steady breathes. He stands in her doorway and listens to her soft snoring. In time he realizes that he’s unconsciously matched his breathing to hers. He breathes in and out in time with her...and he finds that it calms him.

 

This time, when he returns to the couch and closes his eyes, he watches her smile.

 

* * *

 

He dreams that he’s back in his house. Felicity stands in front of him, looking at him in confusion.

 

He tells her that Slade took the wrong woman.

 

Her mouth falls open as a surprised “oh” escapes her.

  
And this time, when he tells her he loves her, he bends down and kisses her…and she kisses him back.

 

When he wakes to the sound of a phone ringing, he yearns for something he’s never felt: Felicity’s lips pressed to his; soft and warm, making him feel like he’s home.

 

And that’s when he knows there’s no going back.

 

_…the end…_

**Author's Note:**

> This was harder to write than I thought it would be, and it came out very differently than I thought it would. I wanted it to fit organically into the episode, so that when Oliver and Felicity finally talk on Lian Yu, it still makes sense that this could have happened. I wanted to add something more to their story without taking away from the importance of their conversation on the island. Hopefully I did that justice. Thanks for reading!


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